Hospital Beds
by PaperGanstah
Summary: This story is set in America in the 1860's. Decorated officer Colonel Castiel James Novak has already made a name for himself in the early battles of the war. Dean Winchester is a young Confederate soldier with secretes of his own. Both find themselves on the same battlefield and then a Confederate hospital hospital where they find that some lines may be crossed. C/D.


**Damn it, I know I need to stop writing stories and finish my old ones. I promise I am working on them! Here is a little something new.**

**This story is set in America in the 1860's. The American civil war has been claiming lives for months and decorated officer Colonel Castiel James Novak has already made a name for himself in the early battles of the war. Dean Winchester is a young Confederate soldier with secretes of his own. Both find themselves on the same battlefield and then in a Confederate hospital where they find that the line that separates them may be crossed. C/D.**

"Hospital Beds"

It was the worst at night. The pain worsened when others suffered as well. He could hear them crying out to a God first in a unifying plea. That was how it started. Beg for your life. Beg for your mother. Soldiers forgot their pride when their bed pans ran red with blood and the festering ate fever into their flesh. There wasn't much to do in the sweltering heat. It gave them time to focus on how the bandages itched or how they would work with only one leg left.

The first days began with a delirious panic. It was muted with the haze of the drugs and the shock of being clean off the battle field. After the panic set in it didn't leave. It didn't loosen its grip on the men. There was no remorse for what they had seen. There was no pride in the once pressed uniforms and new boots. Panic was followed by numbness punctuated with the night time fears. It was that moment something decided if a boy lived or died. Whether it was God or determination or luck, no one could say.

Stories were shared. A short man with pale eyes and a ratty bath robe wrote down lines on wrinkled paper. He pulled the papers close as a breeze rattled the papers in his hands. Another, a kid really, told anyone who would listen about how he lost his right eye. It seemed that the boy didn't believe the story himself and was repeating it again and again until he could make sense of it.

.

Cannons went off nearby and Dean didn't know what he was dodging anymore. A bullet picked off a man next to him and he surged ahead. His boots were slick with mud and he nearly tripped over a jigsaw of a body. The head was nowhere to be found. Another blast and another. He could hardly hear the yelling from the deafening ring in his ears. Blood dripped steadily from a bullet wound in his shoulder. He ignored the pain.

Dean fell in the muck and his hands were coated in the mud. He got to his feet. When he was standing once more he saw the face of his friend with his eyes glazed over and blood dripping from his nose. He stood there frozen as the fighting continued on without him. He heard someone shouting next to him but couldn't understand the words. His brain was fuzzy. He was jolted back into reality when a hand grasped onto his forearm and tugged painfully. He had a moment to take in blue eyes that bore into his own before he was forced into the mud.

"Get down." His voice was rough.

The other man fell next to him as a blast rang out nearby and shrapnel exploded. Pain licked over his skin like tongues of fire. The cold seeped into his clothes as he lay on the wet earth and tried to smooth out the blurred edges of his vision. The other man laid spread eagled on the ground and blood poured from his full mouth. He was blinking slowly, eyes still focused on Dean's.

"Hang in there." Dean gripped the other man's hand. He felt blood drip into his eyes and tried to push it away. He noticed the brunette's coat was a deep blue. A Union uniform. Badges glinted on his heaving chest. Clearly the guy was an officer for the other side. But in this moment they weren't enemies. They were two men about to die.

Evil dreams chased Dean into oblivion and he felt his hand squeezed once. He choked on the darkness as the dreams caught up.

.

"Oh he has lovely eyes." Castiel Novak blinked slowly as the faces of eager nurses same into view. He winced as he felt the pain of his injuries nearly overwhelming him. He twitched all of his limbs to ensure they were still there. No small miracle, they were. His wrists were tied painfully with rope. He pulled at the rope uselessly as his wrists chaffed.

"What is your name Honey?" A large nurse purred in a southern drawl.

Castiel sat up with a wince. "James. Please, where am I?"

There was a hushed silence. "So you are from the Union? Looks like you got trapped on the wrong side of the fence."

"Where am I?"

"Langley, Virginia. They just brought you in from Dranesville."

Shit. Castiel leaned back against the pillows. He was still in the damned confederacy. He didn't know the extent of his injuries. Where was his damn gun?

"Why?"

A tall, thin man stepped over to the bed, pushing the women away. "Well Colonel _Castiel_ James Novak. We ain't lettin' go of someone like you. You're good for barterin'." His voice was nasally and his eyes the cold gray-blue of a fish.

"I see." Castiel swallowed slowly. He raised his head up defiantly. "Now what?"

Captain Alistair sneered. "When we're good and ready we'll be sure to brief you in Colonel Novak."

A round black woman bustled over with a stern look. "Sir, if you don't mind, we need to get him patched up. He ain't goin' nowhere like this."

Alistair rolled his eyes. "Go ahead. No special treatment for the Northerner, got it Missouri?"

"Yes sir. I was just wondering about the rope, with that wound to his leg, he ain't leavin' any time soon. And they want him alive, mmm?"

Alistair glowered for a moment before he pulled out a knife. He grasped painfully onto Castiel's bloody forearm as he cut the rope off. He did the same to the other wrist. Purple marks rose on his pale skin. Alistair gave Castiel one last smirk before he rounded the corner.

"If his momma wasn't a snake I wouldn't know where he learned to hiss like that." Castiel smiled slowly as Missouri offered him a wink. "Let's get you cleaned up, Honey. All that dirt is gonna get into your blood and kill you."

"You are a nurse I presume?"

"Ain't you cute. Nah, I'm not what you would call "hired help" if you get my meaning. You in the south now, we ain't so human down here."

"Need some help Missouri?" The woman may have been a slave, but she sure seemed to be the one holding the power in the room.

"Meg and Becky, give me a hand. You vultures get back to work, ya hear?" The other women grumbled as they went back to tending the survivors. The two nurses that stayed pulled Castiel into a wheel chair. He closed his eyes against the pain as blood poured down his leg.

"The bandages aren't holding."

"They sure as hell aren't. All those lazy soldiers did was slap some cloth on them. He's gonna need some stichin." Castiel kept his eyes closed as his head thudded. He felt sick.

Missouri made quick work of his uniform, humming and muttering as she pulled the sticky cloth away.

"They sure made a mess outta you, Sweet Heart." Meg and Becky giggled as Missouri began working on his breeches. "Well, have you never seen a man naked before? Hush up." Castiel was too tired to even feel embarrassed as Missouri mothered him into a blissfully warm tub of water.

"That cross on your neck, is that for your momma or for you?" Castiel slowly opened an eye.

"It was from my mother. I had a Bible but I lost it."

Missouri nodded. "Mmmm. I'm sure. A name like yours, you would have to be from good God-fearin' folk. Pretty enough to be an angel."

Missouri scrubbed his hair as he began to fall into a deep sleep. She hummed to herself and Castiel couldn't remember feeling more peaceful.

"Kid's bleeding again. Clean out that nasty one on his side. I bet you anything it's gonna get infected if we don't get to it now."

Becky smiled eagerly at Missouri. "I will do it." Meg looked put out as Becky carefully pressed the cloth to the wound.

"God damn it!" Castiel's eyes flew open and he nearly knocked all the water out of the tub.

"I told you he was religious. Calm down Honey. We got you." Castiel shivered but braced himself bravely for the next assault. Meg took that moment to slip her cloth between his legs.

"Meg, you little hussy." Missouri smacked her with the back of her hand. "Go see if someone else wants you out there." Becky gave Castiel a gleeful smile. He closed his eyes tiredly. Missouri pulled him out of the tub herself and wrapped a towel around his shoulders. She forced a bitter concoction down his throat.

"Drink it up. That's gonna help you sleep real good." Castiel slumped over as the pain left behind a dull throbbing.

.

"Hey, are you awake?"

Castiel rubbed his eyes groggily. "Now I am." He glanced over at the man on his left. He was young. He gazed curiously into his familiar green eyes.

"You're a greenhorn for the north, aren't you?"

"What?" Castiel looked irritated. He felt like cotton was in his mouth and the pain was back.

"The badges. You're a big man on the other side. Everyone's been talking about you." Castiel ignored him and tried to go back to sleep. "What do you think you are too high and mighty to talk to me, you son of a bitch?"

Castiel pretended to sleep as he racked his brain for where he knew the kid. Then he remembered. He nearly killed himself shoving the idiot into the mud. He remembered the fear in the boy's green eyes as he grasped onto his hand.

"What's your name?"

"So the Yank isn't so mighty after all. It's Dean. Dean Winchester." He grinned at Castiel, glad to finally have his attention.

Castiel nodded as he pulled the blanket closer. "Good night Dean."

Dean looked pissed. "Fine. Good night, Yank."

.

It was afternoon when Castiel was awoken roughly by Alistair. "On your feet Novak." The monster grinned. Castiel slowly tried to clamber out of bed as a fever burned away in his skin. He grasped onto the bed rail as his legs shook under him.

"The famed Colonial Novak, champion of the battle of Boonville. Look at him now." Alistair snickered. Castiel was nearly paler than his night shirt, and the bandage around his waist was bloody.

"Without his duds, he looks like a fairy, don't he?" A soldier with less teeth than a baby leered at him. "No fancy gold cuffs or nothing."

"Give him a week and send him out. Winchester, how are you holding up?"

Dean was on his feet eagerly, his shoulders back proudly. "Good sir."

Alistair nodded. "Is the shoulder the extent of your injuries?"

"Yes sir." Dean ignored his bruised ribs and the plastered gash above his eye.

"Good. I want you to take Novak to the base camp by the end of the week."

Dean looked proud. "Yes sir."

Alistair smiled slowly. "Get him there safely and there may be a promotion in store, Winchester. I would bet on it." Dean grinned like an idiot as the General walked away.

"D'you hear that?" He turned to see Castiel wavering on his feet as sweat damped his hair. "You okay?"

Castiel nodded slowly as the world spun around him. Dean was there in an instant to catch him in his arms. His shoulder ached with the effort but he managed to keep the smaller man from hitting the floor.

"Buddy, I got you." Cas rested against him for a moment before he pulled away and stumbled towards his bed.

"I don't need your help." Castiel's voice was low and rough.

Dean looked pissed. "Whatever dick. You will soon enough when I take you up to headquarters. I've seen fancy Yank's like you come back in coffins or worse."

"Worse?" Castiel proudly and painfully got into bed.

"Yeah. Worse. You think Alistair's a creep? Wait until you meet Crowley. You won't be such a prissy son of a bitch after that. I guarantee it. You'll pray for them to walk you out in a coffin."

Castiel yawned. "Good night Winchester." He could almost feel the other man's glare in the moonless night.

"Good night _Novak_." Castiel smiled into the pillow. He didn't respond, knowing that would piss Dean off more.


End file.
